In the morning they sat out happily, the Tin Woodsfan carrying the jug of Blog, carefully stoppered to keep it from spilling.
By midday they were all very hungry, so they sat down by the side of the road to eat. The scarecrow, the Lion, and the Tin Woodsfan all had fanzines to read, but Dorothy had to look for berries beside the road. As she was doing this, she came upon a little bug sitting upon a rock.
"Look out there!" called the bug good-naturedly.
"Oh!" said Dorothy. And then, because she was growing accustomed to the way all creatures in Iz could speak, she sat down beside him and said, "Why, who are you?"
"I'm Professor Woggleboggs," said the bug, bowing.
The Scarecrow had come up to them when he heard Dorothy talking, and he exclaimed, "Why, you disappeared years ago, Professor Woggleboggs! No one knew where you were!"
"I've been working on my latest invention," said the Professor, and from a large pouch he pulled a very big blue pill. "Here," he said to Dorothy, "take this -- it will quench your thirst for knowledge."
"But I'm not thirsty," Dorothy protested. "I'm hungry."
The professor frowned. "But my pills are the result of endless hours of research. They teach you things! This one is my favorite pill -- I call it Ezra. It's the final distillation of a lot of heavy reading."
"Well, if it's distilled ..." said Dorothy, taking the proffered pill. "Oh! It's so heavy!"
The bug smiled proudly. "It weighs a pound," he said.
Dorothy hesitated at the thought of having a pound of pill in her stomach. "Have you anything else?" she asked.
"Well," said the Professor, "I have some pink pills --"
"Red! Red!" shouted someone, and all of a sudden a weird fan came running at Professor Woggleboggs, waving his arms, with an insane light in his eyes. "Red! Red!" he shouted, and at once Professor Woggleboggs scurried away, with the shouting fan close behind him.
"Why -- why, what was that?" said Dorothy in alarm.
The Scarecrow laughed. "That was just Jack Fugghead," he said. "Don't worry, he's never been able to hurt anybody in Iz."
"But why is he chasing that nice little bug?" Dorothy asked.
"He hates colors," smiled the Scarecrow, "especially black and red. He is one of the strangest fans in Iz. He lives in Readerville, they say. He's an authority on H. P. Hatecraft."
"He certainly is an odd fan," said Dorothy.
"Confidentially," said the Scarecrow, "he's colorblind."
(Data entered by Judy Bemis)